I try really, really hard to understand the perspective of other people. I grew up with religious zealots, and I try to understand their point of view. My world is periodically thrown into chaos by terrorists, and I try to understand their point of view. My dad was a lizard and a weasel and I try to understand his point of view.
Most of the time, I’m satisfied with the degree to which I feel I understand. I mean, I don’t really know that I’ve got it right, since I haven’t started shooting the breeze with Al Qaeda members or my dad–or even religious zealots–but it gets me through the night.
If there is a perspective to take, I’ll take it. You know, like Robert Barone touching his food to his chin. I take perspectives. It’s just what I do. Most of the time, it’s kind of a pleasant hobby–like a crossword puzzle. I look forward to doing it in Country X. Occasionally, it drives me mad.
It’s driving me mad today.
There’s one particular kind of thinking that I can’t understand. I can’t see what the benefits are or why anyone does. Clearly, there must be some or no one would do it. Right? (That is Hypothesis A. Hypothesis B is that people who do this are just freaks.)
Scratch that. I can see benefits. They just never seem compelling enough.
But let me get to the point.
The thinking I don’t understand is like this: a good-sounding idea floats along, and you grab onto it–forever after interpreting the world according to that good-sounding idea.
It’s not killing babies. But I don’t understand it. I might lose my mind.